The S Files
by sissyHIYAH
Summary: Seifer and Selphie are certain life exists beyond their world. Quistis and Irvine are skeptical, and they have no desire to chase their insane loved ones halfway across the planet, but they don't have many other options.
1. Chapter 1

"What are you doing?"

It always started late at night. Quistis thought it had been mice at first, all those skittering, sneaky clatters, but mice didn't know how to access the internet, at least not the mice she knew. Besides, she was meticulous in her housekeeping. No food was left uncovered, no crumb left unaccounted for. If a mouse thought he might steal a meal from her kitchen, then he had another think coming.

"Working."

Again. He was at it again.

It had started with a movie.

Date night was wonderful that particular evening, dinner and a movie and drinks. He was charming and attentive, which was rare, but she liked him that way. Too much attention made her nervous, which was why they had been together as long as they had. Her shrimp was excellent, but his steak was overcooked. He brushed it off. The waitress was skittish enough, he had told her, and it would do no good to complain. She would have probably cried in the restroom if he had mentioned it. He figured it must have been one of her first nights on the job. She liked that about him. He was always able to tell when someone was uncomfortable, and he reacted to that the way a surfer reads the waves before they hop in the water.

They had waited in a bar for an hour or so before the movie began, laughing and joking and playing a round of eight ball. She had her usual whiskey, neat, and he had his cheap beer. Why he drank that foul brew was beyond her, but he never came home drunk, so she couldn't fault him. It was disgusting, but he enjoyed it. Half of her wondered if he drank it when they went out because he liked to have a makeshift club ready for the inevitable drunken lout that would try to flirt with her. It happened every time. Seifer would hang back and watch while she eviscerated her would-be suitor, but he was always there. Just in case.

The other half of her wondered if he drank it because it _wouldn't_ get him drunk, no matter how many he guzzled down. He liked winning bets, and that bile was enough to make any competition surrender. He had a closet full of t-shirts from his beer competitions, but his trophy in the shape of Shiva holding a frothy mug of suds was his pride and joy. She had her degrees, her awards, her various gold-plated plaques on their living room shelves, and he had that cup covered with the tits and the stars. Horrible thing. It was worth keeping it displayed, though, because at least he kept up with the dusting.

 _Lunatics From Pandora_. It wasn't exactly award worthy. The plot was inane, something to do with an alien invasion and the elixir that would repel them, and the characters were obnoxious in all their teenage angst. The number of wet t-shirts alone was enough to make her miss half the movie from rolling her eyes, but the special effects were top-notch. She would give them credit for that.

But the aliens. Mother of all things holy, the aliens. He talked about nothing else.

The cab ride home.

Aliens.

Climbing into bed.

Aliens.

Post-coital snuggling.

Aliens.

Coffee the next morning.

Aliens.

When she was trying to take a shower.

Aliens.

Six weeks.

Six. Long. Weeks.

"I'm not sure this is classified as work."

The house was dark except for the light from the desk lamp pooled around him. Charts, graphs, tables. Color-coded, alphabetical, chronological. Every item categorized and carefully marked. Some insane website was flashing green and purple, making him look like he was being blasted by a laser. Sightings, newspaper articles, eye-witness accounts, anatomical charts. Was that a spleen? No. Two spleens? Maybe? And what was that thing? Some giant appendix? She fumbled through the diagrams, and he flapped his hands at her like an old woman worried that she would disturb his rummy cards.

"It should be."

Quistis felt her ocular muscles contracting and fought the urge to roll her eyes. She had work in the morning and she really, _really_ didn't feel like dealing with those adolescent assholes on four hours of sleep.

"Come back to bed."

Seifer had already turned back to his charts. He made a mark on one chart and consulted the newspaper spread on his lap.

"In a minute."

Any other night, she might have started rubbing his shoulders, knowing that he had a weak spot for massages and would hop into bed after five minutes of petting, but not tonight. He was irritating her.

"Your minutes tend to become hours."

That was true. He couldn't deny it. More than once he had woken with a sheet of paper plastered to his face and the taste of newspaper ink on his tongue. It wasn't pleasant, but goddamn if it wasn't satisfying.

"I can't sleep."

That was also true. He hadn't been able to sleep since John had rescued Samantha from that tank of acid and saved her from being turned into the surrogate mother for the invading alien race.

"You could if you tried."

Quistis didn't understand. She was great, she really was, but there were some things that she just didn't _get_. This was one of them. He wasn't upset by that fact. He would rather she not be able to understand him, at least not when it came to his work. It helped to keep him sharp, keen. Her doubt fueled him on the nights when nothing seemed to make sense. He knew that he just had to think like she did and it would all fall into place.

"Is there something you need? Something I need to do?"

Well, no. There wasn't anything she particularly needed. She just liked having him in bed with her, his belly against her back, all warm and protective. It was nice to hear his grumbling when she snored and feel his palm flatten her face when he tried to pat her back to sleep. He usually ended up making her snort herself awake, but the gesture was sweet. It gave her a few minutes to look at him with his mouth hanging open like a damned fool before she dozed off again. He was kind of cute when he wasn't aware of it.

"No, I just..."

Clingy. She knew she would seem clingy if she said any of this to him, so she just shook her head. He had been so tired, though.

"Just what?"

Every night she did this, interrupted him when he was trying to work on his research. He wasn't a whiz kid when it came to this sort of thing like she was, but he wasn't going to ask her for help, either. Fuck that. It might take him ten years, maybe more, but he wanted to do this his way. Not hers.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Go back to bed. I'll be there as soon as I finish. Okay?"

He turned to grab her hand, but she was already up the hall. Her feet made no sound as she went back to the bedroom. It had always freaked him out that she could move so silently, but then again, that was probably why she was such an effective killer. She wasn't there, then she was, then she was gone again.

"Fuck. I'm just trying to work."

His eyes burned. He really hadn't slept at all the past few weeks. He'd make it up to her in the morning. Eggs, scrambled, with chives and sour cream, just the way she liked them, bacon, burnt to oblivion, which had always puzzled him, and her beloved dark roast, which made perfect sense.

In the morning, though.

There was too much to finish.


	2. Chapter 2

"I SAW IT I SAW IT I SAW IT!"

Was that drool on her chin? Surely not.

Then again, this was Selphie. Saliva would be the least surprising thing she would have dripping from her face.

"What?"

He knew he was in for it the moment he asked. She had that look about her, the same look she had when she saw that bear that one time, after it had caught that salmon from the river. He had no idea that anyone would ever be so amused by a fish slapping the ever-loving hell out of an old grizzly bear, but then again, he had never known anyone quite like her.

"THE THING! IT WAS THERE!"

Not the Thing again. He checked off boxes in his mental list of pros and cons.

Pros: She was passionate about something other than pipe bombs.

Cons: She was likely obsessed because aliens had explosives that did not require oxygen for combustion.

Pros: This was distracting her from the roller derby, which was a constant source of worry for him. She refused to slather herself in potions before she strapped herself into her skates, and considering that The Galbadian Gal-badass-ians were their next opponents, some preventative measures were necessary.

Cons: She was trying to attract any would-be invaders with a sign on their roof that read, "Flatten Galbadia first! Kill them all!" She had spent her entire paycheck on holiday lights, and it was the middle of July. How she found _that_ many lights was a complete mystery.

"Where?!"

It was out before he realized it. He winced.

"Out there!"

Oh god. Out there could mean any number of places. In the backyard? In town? In the ocean?

"Out where?"

What was he thinking? Why was he encouraging this? Had he not learned his lesson after the last time? The scar was just starting to fade, but no. He had to ask. Irvine decided then and there that he was going to consult a therapist.

"I could _smell_ him."

Okay. Now _that_ was unexpected. She had spent a summer hunting a sasquatch, only returning home when it was determined by the local and federal officials that the beast she was pursuing was only Raijin. The poor guy. He was only trying to sneak past Fujin's watchful eye, but the smell of fresh doughnuts was more than any man could handle. It really wasn't fair that she was so strict on his diet.

No refined sugar. Only clean, naturally occuring carbohydrates.

Lean protein. Grilled fish, baked chicken.

Plenty of fresh vegetables.

Carrot juice smoothies. Acacia berry teas. Spinach colonics.

Supplements. Protein shakes.

No red meat, no candy, no alcohol.

Purification.

Detoxification.

Exfoliation.

Subjugation.

No man could live like that. It was no wonder that he lost his mind and tried to order a dozen doughnuts in a gorilla costume.

He simply hadn't thought his disguise through. How was he to know that half the town would call the cops because they saw a giant figure with black fur lurking around Second and Elm? How was he to know that Selphie was a born monster hunter?

At least, in her own mind.

"I thought you said you saw it."

Time to stop this and bring her back to reality.

"I did!"

True, she did. That's what scared him. She always saw what she was hunting. The lake monster. The sasquatch. The floating lights. The railroad ghost. The crazy man with the hook for a hand...which turned out to be legitimate, but she had absolutely no business at all chasing after a homicidal maniac that had escaped from D-District just because he had a bit of curved metal on the end of his stump. There were plenty of perfectly decent people that happened to be amputees all over the world, and he would have been happy to help her meet all of them.

But no. She just had to chase the one guy that was completely batfuck insane.

"But you just said you could smell it?"

"YES!"

It wasn't so hard. Why was he giving her that weird look?

And that thing with his eyerbrow. He was doing that thing with his eyebrow again! Why did he always have that look on his smug face?!

"So you...smelled an alien?"

She vowed to wax that hateful bit of hair off his face as soon as he fell asleep.

"YES!"

He didn't want to know. He did NOT want to know. Knowing that she smelled it was one thing, knowing how she knew that was another thing entirely.

"Did you ask him before you sniffed him?"

Son.

Of.

A.

Bitch.

"You don't ask aliens anything, Irvie."

As if that made any sense at all. The odor was everywhere. She had to wash her clothes six times just to get the scent out, and then it was all inside the washing machine, making all of her clothes smell like that interplanetary bastard, so she had to burn the machine.

Then her clothes.

And the dryer.

Because reasons.

"So he didn't consent to your sniffing?"

Manners were manners after all, and his girl wasn't exactly razor sharp when it came to etiquette. He felt bad for the poor little moonman, if she did indeed see one. He had a long education with sniffing people that did not want to be sniffed, no matter how delicious they might smell, so he wasn't about to let his girlfriend do what everyone told him was rude and disrespectful.

"CONSENT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!"

Oooh, that cowboy. The damned idiot didn't even know the difference between going up to someone and sticking his nose in her hair to "compliment" her on something that was pretty damned private, and being around someone that smells so much that you can't help but breathe in their skin particles.

Gross.

"Just because they're aliens don't much mean that they ain't got rights."

Like he knew anything about rights.

Hmpf.

"I COULDN'T HELP SMELLING HIM!"

Point for Irvine, he thought.

"YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT!"

No, he was pretty sure he just scored a point. Were they even playing the same game? He briefly considered a game card, but this wasn't bowling and he didn't want her to know he was keeping up with the points.

"Whoa there, little lady. I get it. You're all riled up 'cause you think you saw a spaceman."

It could have been a spacewoman, for all she knew. Damn him and his sexism. Damn him, period! Damn periods, for that matter! The menstrual kind AND the punctuation kind! They could all go to hell for all she cared!

"THAT ISN'T IT AT ALL!"

Oh, but she was maaaaaaad! Irvine flipped through his mental catalogue of Things Women Like and came up empty. Selphie liked chocolate, but not so much that it would send her into a blinding orgasm like the women on tv. Same thing with wine. She didn't adhere to the formula at all, which, now that he thought about it, was why he was into her.

Alright, fine. He'd listen.

"Well, what'd this feller smell like? Oxide and such? Somethin' burnin'?"

Selphie took a long, deep breath.

Then another.

Sometimes it took a while before she didn't think homicidal thoughts. The oxygen helped, she believed. That's what her doctor told her. The more one breathed, the less anger one would feel.

She swore it worked, at least until it didn't, but then she would always try again.

"Sort of like rubber, but not. Ever smelled a slingshot after you've shot a rock straight at some jerk's head?"

That made about as much sense as tits on a boar hog, to quote the folks from his hometown.

"Well...no, darlin', I can't say that I have. Never had much use for slingshots. You have to waste all that time lookin' for rocks, then you have to carry around a bunch of little bits of dirt in your pocket, then all that dirt gets in the workings of your washing machine and junks up the works. It just ain't worth it. I like my rifles."

 _Breathing is central to inner peace._

 _Breathe with me, Selphie..._

"THEN YOU HAVE NO WAY OF UNDERSTANDING ME!"


	3. Chapter 3

_10 weeks_

Vaguely humanoid...

 _What the hell does that even mean? Humanoid like Xu? Yeah, she has arms and legs, but that bitch sure ain't got a heart. And Zell is all stomach. It's a wonder that he can even walk, much less throw a punch._

Intelligent beyond comprehension...

 _What the fuck ever. I bet Quistis could show those flying scrotums a thing or two. Hell, I can practically see that big ass brain of hers pulsating under those glasses, and that's when she's sleeping. Somebody sure comprehended the fuck out of them to even get this bullshit published, and I bet these shitstain writers don't even wash their hands after they piss._

...methods of metabolism are yet to be determined.

 _Right. Because heaven for-fucking-bid that an intelligent being doesn't enjoy a good burger. Those cows didn't turn themselves inside out by themselves, and even if they did, then no damn creature of higher intelligence is going to turn away the chance for a few hundred free burgers when the cows were practically evolving into their final forms overnight._

Higher intelligence, indeed.

Seifer slammed the last book down in disgust.

Libraries were useless places, unless you happened to have a thing for dust. Judging by the condition of the shelves, nobody had visited this tomb for a couple of decades except to use the free wifi. It had once seemed like a good idea, combing the stacks for ancient lore, searching through words of wisdom by previous scholars.

But that was until he began his research.

Half of what he had found was just alien erotica, and the other half made him wonder if he shouldn't consult the nearby mental facilities to interview the authors.

Mother of all things holy and pure, it was all so _bad._

Quistis had mentioned that he might want to consider the strain that interstellar travel might have on any lifeforms that sought to travel between worlds. Gravity and heat and moisture, pollution and aircraft and allergens, tropical storm systems, barometric anomalies, salt concentrations, bacterial and fungal growth, hormonal signals by potential test subjects, human aggression, nuclear war, animal instinct, heavy traffic during rush hour, whatever. All of those could interfere with any being that sought to understand their world.

But no. He ignored all that. He just _had_ to go to the library. He just had to prove her wrong.

And now he had six volumes of alien probing pornography.

Hooray for private research.

"Hey!"

"Shh!"

Quistis made hornrimmed glasses so goddamned sexy. She did that thing where she took them off so, _so_ slowly and bit them so that it looked like she was inviting him to...

"I just need to know where you keep your magazines!"

"Shh!"

But this hag? Those same glasses did _not_ have the same effect. She had probably been unearthed when they broke the ground for the library and they had to keep her around so that she didn't try to cocoon the damn place in some web made of ancient cashmere and mothballs. She definitely had that look, like she was just waiting for her chance to smother them all in the dust she was so carefully collecting.

"I need to know where..."

"I _heard_ you, young man!"

How the hell could a simple sweater vest seem so fucking awful? What sort of person had to wear that garment so that it seemed so absolutely and wholly offensive? Was it created from the wool of some foul heathen sheep? Could wool be evil? Had this woman dyed her wicked vest in the blood of infidels?

"Then why are you busting my balls?"

The librarian removed her glasses so, _so_ slowly. Seifer felt his balls retreat into a spot somewhere behind his kidneys and wished that he had never mentioned them to the hellbeast at the desk. He was certain she would feed them to her young. She had enough harpies circling the shelves to need as many as she could pluck from her literary explorers. Why Chicken Wuss found one of them to be attractive was beyond his understanding. They all looked like vultures...

Circling...

Sniffing...

Waiting...

"I, uh, mean..."

"Yes?"

Oh, but how she hissed that word...

"I need, uh, periodicals."

She was almost vibrating with joy. The library was just some place for them to drop their wet bookbags on the floor, or for them to listen to their loud music from those goddawful headphones. Damned hooligans. They didn't appreciate the systematic beauty of meticulous organization. She wasn't one to gloat, but oh, how glorious it was to feel his uncertainty like so much muddy, shallow earth.

"You need what?"

Honey and poison. Ants crawled to her trap and died, drowning in her syrupy voice. He knew it in his bones. He _felt_ it, as sure as the sun rose in the morning and set at dusk.

 _I am going to beg Quistis to never wear glasses again._

"Periodicals."

"Right this way, young man."

She hefted herself up from her desk and pressed her palms into the small of her back. There was a mighty creak, audible to everyone in the reading area. Seifer saw tiny sandstorms of dust swirl around her in the late afternoon light. She probably hadn't moved from that desk in a decade. He half wondered if he should fetch a can of oil to lube up her joints, but decided that she had been designed long before humanity figured out that air and moisture degrade certain metals, and whatever ancient machinery moved her would not benefit from any sort of lubrication.

They moved with surprising speed through fiction, non-fiction, history, mythology and folklore, best sellers and dog-eared paperbacks. Older than most nations and steadier than even established economies, she was swift and sure in her native realm. Had the books curtsied and the shelves bowed to her, he wouldn't have been surprised. The pressed plywood that smelled of polyurethane from the past couple of decades gradually changed into the heavy oak and pine of older, more assured knowledge. Seifer was surprised that she left the leather-bound encyclopedias on the cheap shelves and kept the magazines on the carefully stained oak.

Wandering to the old editions of science fiction and fantasy, he asked, "You keep porn on the fancy shelves too? Or just the tabloids?"

She cackled then, a deep, throaty sound that seemed like it had been dredged from a warm, sticky lake of black nicotine and sugary coffee.

"You'd be amazed at how much you can learn from the skin rags, young man."

"Yeah. Beth loves long walks on the beach and Tiffany loves volunteering at the animal shelter."

The librarian laughed again and coughed.

"And I bet Beth has a degree in astrophysics and Tiffany is finishing her doctorate, something about some fancy deep sea bacteria and anaerobic life." She squinted at him and her voice lost all its mirth. "I bet folks say the same things about that pretty girlfriend of yours. All looks. They forget that she's got a brain the size of this entire building."

"What the hell?"

Seifer would hate to deck an old biddy for being hateful about his girl, but goddamn. Nobody talked about Quistis that way. She might forgive that sort of talk, but he never did.

Errr, even if she sort of complimented her. Was she trying to be nice? In some catty, old bitch with glasses that were no longer and would never be sexy again, sort of way?

Goddamn it. Why wasn't she here to sort through this mess of human interaction for him? She was _good_ at it

He hated the library.

"And about you, for that matter. You're a good looking young man. Why are you shuffling through these old magazines? You should be out playing rugby."

"Rugby?"

Ah, yes. Different games. Sort of. She knew they had semi-elliptical balls of pigskin and they had to score points. They all looked the same when they came to her holy land to pass their exams, at any rate. This one looked like all of them.

"Football?"

Seifer was too vain to play such brutal sports. Any sport that involved the potential loss of teeth was no sport for him. He flipped through an old issue of _Occult Fan_ , chuckling at the mullets and feathered hair in all of the art.

"I don't play..."

"Handegg? What do you kids call it these days?"

She rattled on about athletics and funds being diverted from everything important to everything insignificant, like ball games and jock straps and testosterone-fueled gladiator matches. Seifer flipped through volume after volume of exactly what he sought.

Eye-witness accounts.

Real life experience.

Living, breathing mythology.

 _I'm telling you, I've never been so cold in my life, and believe you me, Mr. Writer Man, I know cold. They smelled just like hot rubber, and not like that, you pervs!_

Hmm...

"Ma'am? Do you have a copying machine nearby?"

* * *

*-Handegg is what my dear friends D and B call American football, which makes perfect sense. I mean, it's one of my favorite sports,and I follow my Carolina Panthers religiously, but unless there's a punt or a kick, feet simply aren't used. It's a matter of passing and catching that egg-shaped ball, hence the glorious and hilarious name of Handegg.


	4. Chapter 4

"No, you listen to ME, Mr. Officer Man! There is no way in hell that I'm..."

His shift was supposed to have been over four hours ago, but no. He _just had_ to investigate that suspicious person complaint. It would be a cakewalk, he thought! Probably just some kids messing around, playing some stupid game or trying to impress their friends by doing some bullshit dare.

But no. He decided to investigate the day that some insane woman was trying to cover herself in petroleum jelly and climb a radio tower to...what was it she said? "To get them to talk to her?"

Oh brother.

"Ma'am, please, we are just trying to figure out why..."

The cuffs were digging into her skin, but that was a problem for Dr. Kadowaki and her army of nurses to solve. No, if they thought to contain her, then they had better think again! She had firsthand experience with someone that had no hands at all, and that sort of 'running from the man with a hook on his nub' experience meant more than any police record ever could!

"Oh, I just bet you are, brother! Trying to figure out everything for your overlord! For the Man!"

The what now?

The officer turned to look into his own reflection. He couldn't see them behind the one-way glass, but he knew that his colleagues were just as confused. They had laughed when he first brought her in, some crazy naked lady covered in lube, screaming about aliens and mind control. It had been funny at first, sure, but that was also before they listened to her and realized that, as insane as she seemed, she introduced some interesting points. There was a brilliant mind at work in that head of hers. It might have been brilliant like a blender full of razor blades running at high speed, but it was brilliant all the same.

So when it came down to who was going to interview her, to find out if she was a threat or one that might be better off in a psychiatric hospital, who better than the man that was already covered in the same ointment as his very slippery quarry? It was practically destiny, they argued. Besides, he was always going on about how he was going to clean up the town, so why not let him dive right into that dangerous little pool?

"Er, my lieutenant is a woman, so she isn't..."

As if that would matter! Humph! That was exactly what she would expect from the likes of him and his kind.

"You think that's going to make me tell you anything?!"

He was supposed to be at the bar, trying out the new pool tables with the fancy blue felt, not sitting in a room with a mostly-naked half-pint lunatic that kept trying to chew her way through solid steel handcuffs. What dentist did she visit anyway? Would his insurance cover it if he switched over? Because her teeth looked perfect, in spite of the gnawing and the gnashing. Whoever took care of her chompers did fantastic work.

He remained silent, partly because he was staring at her teeth, but mainly because he simply did not know how to respond to her particular brand of crazy.

"Damn right. Now, what did you do with my clothes? The AC is brutal in here."

The girl was shivering, it shamed him to notice. Her very enthusiastic writhing to escape her restraints had rendered the elastic band of her jail garb useless, so while her upper half was covered in the plain khaki scrubs of every other inmate, her lower half was squeaking on the cold metal chair with every movement she made.

"We, uh, didn't find your clothes."

That wasn't entirely true, as he thought he had seen a flash of yellow fluttering from a pine tree not far from where they arrested her, but given that it was fifty feet above the ground and there wasn't a cherry picker or a willing lineman in sight, he didn't feel that he was technically lying.

"Hiding 'em from me, eh? Trying to freeze me to death? Going to transport my frozen shell to the home planet for your experiments? Well, I've got news for you, Slim! I ain't gonna be part of any of your..."

The girl fell, the chair clattered, and there was much to-do from the floor before he righted her. The screeching sound of the aluminum grinding against the concrete as she spun in endless circles would haunt his dreams for weeks.

He tried to assist her, to lift her pants to a more respectable level so that it could never be said that he didn't play the part of the gentleman interrogator, and she kicked him in the shin.

Gritting his teeth, trying very hard to remind himself that he represented the law, he muttered, "Your what to the where? I don't..."

The door of the interrogation room opened, though not by much. Her arrest was already legend, and not one officer wanted to meet the wrath of the yellow jacket currently trapped in their headquarters.

"Sir? Bail has been posted for this one."

The officer threw his keys at his subordinate as he bolted from the room.

"Thank fucking god."

* * *

"...and if ya don't mind, I'd just like to talk to ya for a spell an' try'n figure this out."

It wasn't that Quistis was surprised that Selphie had been arrested. This wasn't the first time she had been arrested, and it would almost certainly not be the last.

And it wasn't that she was surprised that Irvine had called her for advice.

No, what surprised her was that her boyfriend was the one to post the bail for one Selphie Tilmitt, and that was worrisome.

Seifer had not been himself lately.

Well...

No, that wasn't true.

Seifer had been obnoxiously true to himself lately, and that was more reason to worry than the 1200 gil he shelled out to get Selphie out of jail. They needed that money to repair their car, which sputtered and clanked and announced their arrival to more places than any piece of machinery should ever have done. It was embarrassing, at least until the car broke down entirely, which would mean something far worse than simple embarrassment. They needed that money.

But over a thousand gil to bail Selphie Tilmitt out of jail for public nudity and disturbing the peace?

Her Seifer?

Her law abiding, stick to the rules, Seifer? Her precious Disciplinary Committee lovekins?

Okay, that was pushing it, but still. He wasn't one to break off from tradition just to tickle his jollies. That wasn't how he operated. Hell, he didn't even start making toast until he poured his juice in the mornings. And breakfast for dinner? That was just crazy talk. There were rules to the universe, and Seifer Almasy obeyed them to the letter.

It wasn't even as if Selphie was protesting some brutal dictator or evil government. At least then her form of protest might have made some sort of sense.

Aliens?

Again?

This has to be some cosmic joke, she kept telling herself. The whole world has gone mad.

Right?

Surely?


End file.
